


The fevers that just won't break

by kawuli



Series: We thought we lost you (Welcome back) [3]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Gen, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Triggers, and what happens next
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 20:24:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11813556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawuli/pseuds/kawuli
Summary: The Capitol isn't a good place for Rokia to be, and everyone knows it. When one bad night makes it even more obvious, Rokia finds out just how protective mentors can be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These chapters began life as separate ficlets, but they more-or-less hang together, so here they are. There's a lot of ...sensitive... stuff in here so I'm really not going to go back and nitpick them for consistency and narrative flow.

Selene seems intent to make friends, and Rokia surprises herself by enjoying it. Selene knows the Capitol, for one thing, knows scruffy places where Rokia’s not likely to run into anyone she knows, where they can sit in a corner and drink in peace, even a couple places with decent music for dancing that don’t totally make Rokia’s skin crawl. It takes her a few drinks to enjoy it, but it’s fun, dancing with Selene, who plays the possessive girlfriend if anyone tries to get too close. Sometimes they go out with Dash, and Rokia watches the two of them dancing together. It’s brilliant, not just because they’re both good dancers but because years of watching each others’ backs means they move together like they don’t even have to try. 

One night when she’s back in the Capitol after a week with Lyme in Two Selene drags her out of the shop to a new place. Selene’s wild-eyed and laughing and Rokia’s matching her drinks and they’re standing at the bar watching the crowd. Suddenly there’s a hand on her shoulder and she spins, hands pushing out. Selene steps up beside her, tense, and Rokia looks up into a face she remembers but can’t place and oh, shit. He’s talking to her, moving into her space and she pulls back, ducks her head, wraps her arms around herself. Selene glances from Rokia to the guy and it’s Selene’s hand on his chest, pushing him back, telling him to get out, Selene’s voice low and dangerous telling him the world doesn’t work like that anymore and he needs to leave them the fuck alone, and Rokia should be doing something, reacting somehow, but she can’t seem to do more than cower and stare until he’s gone and Selene is back standing next to her. Rokia takes a huge shuddering breath and meets Selene’s eye for a bare second until the fury sparked there leaves her breathless.

“Come on,” Selene says. “Let’s go.” She’s keeping her voice level but she’s furious, practically vibrating with it, and it’s all Rokia can do not to flinch.

Rokia can’t seem to unfreeze enough to talk so she nods and follows Selene out. It’s cold outside and the shock feels good, harsh and painful and clean. Selene walks her into her apartment and Rokia curls up on the couch. Selene sits at the other end, trying to act relaxed but Rokia’s not so far out of it she can’t see through it.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Selene asks, sounding so uncomfortable that Rokia has to laugh. It comes out shattered and almost hysterical.

“Shit, no,” Rokia says, “just—fuck that guy.” She laughs again, raw and brittle because, oh, the irony. Selene looks at her, half-smiling, and okay, Rokia’s acting more than a little crazy, but Selene hasn’t freaked out yet—instead she just shakes her head and goes to the kitchen.

Rokia takes the glass of water, sits up a little more, drinks. Deep breaths, okay, she’s fine. Just caught her off guard. It’s okay. 

“Thanks,” she says finally, a little awkward, once she can manage to keep her voice level.   
“I’m okay, really, you can go.”

Selene looks at her. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” 

Selene nods. “Call if you need anything.”

“Sure.”

Selene glances over her shoulder as she walks out, and Rokia waves. 

It’s a relief when she’s gone. Rokia drops the last thread of control she’s been clutching, takes her blanket and huddles in the corner of the room, cowering like a frightened animal and it’s ridiculous but nobody’s there to see it so it doesn’t matter that she’s holding her knees to her chest so she doesn’t shake apart. It takes a long time for the panic to wash through her and leave her exhausted, but she finally slides into sleep, back pressed against the wall.

When she wakes up gasping it’s still dark, and she doesn’t remember what woke her, but what she’s left with is the feeling of hands on her arms, holding her down, touching her, and she’s up and moving just to remind herself she can, pulling on her sweats and her running shoes and slipping out the door. The cold air knifes into her lungs and the rhythm of her feet on the concrete drums through her body and she runs, and runs, and runs until her legs shake and her breath comes harsh and painful and then she runs home as the sun comes up. There’s hot water this morning, thankfully, and she stands under the stream until she stops shivering.

It’s better in the shop—her job today’s complicated enough to demand her full attention and then some, recreating parts for a fuel pump because the plant making the spare parts is still out of commission. She’s absorbed enough that nobody really tries to talk to her, waves or nods as they come in and get to work. It’ll take all day, turning fittings on the lathe while the CNC hums in the background. Around noon she’s fitting parts together and checking tolerances, nibbling absently at one of the protein bars Selene stashed in her desk last time she was over.

And it’s as though thinking of Selene summoned her, because she’s walking through the dim hangar toward the office with that fake-casual stride, coming to lean in the doorway. Rokia doesn’t want to talk to her. It’s embarrassing, Selene can’t take her anywhere, she should just forget this misguided plan she seems to have to make friends with the crazy gearhead Six victor. 

“So,” Selene says, “Meal of champions?”

Rokia looks at the wrapper on her desk, shrugs. Selene’s playing casual still, doing a pretty good job of it, but it’s awkward. “Yeah,” she says, “got caught up in a tricky job, didn’t feel like going out in the cold.”

“You want to get some real food for dinner? I could try and bribe Dash into cooking, or we could get takeout?” 

It’s a nice thought, really, but Rokia’s not fit for human company, she’s going to work a little longer and then maybe run until she can’t stand up and see if that’ll wear her out enough to sleep. Eating real food and talking to real people require a level of effort she’s not really capable of today. “Thanks,” she says, “but I should finish this.” She holds up the parts she’s working on. Selene looks disappointed, but she just nods. 

“OK,” she says, slanting a grin toward Rokia. “Don’t work too hard.”

Rokia forces a smile. “Sure thing.”

Selene looks at her like she wants to say something, thinks better of it, turns and walks out. 

It’s not much later when the phone rings. Rokia swears, checks the caller. It’s Lyme.

“Hello?”

“Hi Rokia, it’s Lyme.” 

“Checking up on me?” It’s sweet, how protective Lyme is, but honestly, Rokia doesn’t need protecting. Never has. 

“Yup.” At least she’s not pretending it’s something else. “When’re you coming back?”

“I dunno.” There’s something appealing about the idea of holing up in Lyme’s house and never leaving, but Lyme will make her sleep and eat and feel things, and who needs that?

“How about tomorrow morning?” 

“Seriously? I have work to do!”

“You’ve been working. Come back for a couple days.” Lyme says it as though she’s got some right to tell Rokia what to do, and it’s kind of annoying but it’s nice somehow at the same time.

“Fine. Tomorrow. Not sure what time.” Because really, Lyme can’t expect her to just come home on command.

“Alright. Call and I can meet you at the station.”

“OK. See you tomorrow.”

“See you. And Rokia?”

“Yeah?”

“Get some sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Lyme just laughs, and they hang up. 

Rokia sighs. 

She actually does sleep for a while, curled up on the couch with some stupid nature documentary on the TV. Wakes up to nightmares again, but what else is new? There’s a list of things that should get done in the shop before she leaves, so she goes straight there after a cup of coffee and a yoghurt from the fridge because Lyme will probably ask her about it and it’s easier if she doesn’t have to lie about eating something. “Human Maintenance Procedures,” Wiress told her once, passing her a muffin as she hunched over her console, one year when they actually had a tribute in more than a few hours. 

She’s finished in the shop by the afternoon and back in Two by early evening. Sure enough, Lyme’s there to pick her up. There’s something off, something Rokia can’t place until she realizes Lyme’s got her camera-face on, blank because whatever she’s actually thinking isn’t appropriate in public. It’s been so long since Rokia saw it that it takes her a minute to place it. There’s no reason for that around Rokia, so what’s going on? And then Lyme looks over at her and asks how the Capitol was, in that carefully neutral tone, and oh, fuck Selene and fuck the Twos and their stupid mentor networks and especially fuck Lyme for picking her up like some kind of stray cat she’s trying to housetrain. 

“What, did Selene tell you I needed rescuing?” It comes out flat instead of angry, but angry takes energy Rokia doesn’t have. 

“No. Selene told Claudius she had to stop herself from kicking the shit out of some guy in a bar, and that you were avoiding her. He told me I might want to give you a call.” 

Rokia sighs. “Traitors, all of you. It’s fine.”

Lyme glances at her before looking back at the road. Her knuckles are white on the steering wheel. “You want to tell me what happened?”

“Not particularly. The Capitol is full of assholes, nothing new there.”

Lyme’s still gripping the wheel like she’s going to tear it right out. “Rokia.”

This is the problem with coming back. If she stayed in the Capitol she’d just numb it with short nights and long runs and hard work and eventually it would stop bothering her. But Lyme asks fucking questions, won’t let her stay zoned out and even keel. It’s starting to piss her off.

“You really want to know?”

“Yeah, kiddo, I really do.” Jump of muscle in Lyme’s clenched jaw after she speaks. So it’s a lie, kind of, even if Lyme doesn’t think it is.

Rokia crosses her arms across her chest. “We ran into a guy I knew.” Fuck this, fuck Lyme, now her heart’s racing again when she was just getting over it. “He was an idiot and an asshole and I used to see him every Games and he thought it’d be nice to say hi, I guess.” And good, they’re pulling up to the house, because if Rokia has to sit here in this car and think about any of this any longer she’s going to lose it. She’s out the door, slamming it hard, as soon as the car stops. Lyme catches up to her at the door to the house. Rokia shies away when she comes near, body reacting before she can stop it, and seriously, who wants to talk about this kind of shit? Lyme looks at her, stays out of her space as she pushes the door open and walks in. The line of her shoulders is tight. 

“Selene didn’t hit him,” Rokia says. “She just told him to leave us alone, walked me back to my place. It’s okay.” Selene worries, Rokia knows. She thinks she’s screwed up and dangerous and doesn’t trust herself not to hurt people, but she didn’t do anything wrong. She doesn’t need to be calling Claudius to confess, or whatever.

“I’m not worried about Selene.” Lyme looks Rokia in the eye until Rokia has to look away. “And for the record if it had been me I wouldn’t have had nearly as much restraint. He’s lucky he’s still breathing.” Rokia looks up from the floor again. Lyme is absolutely serious. It’s breathtaking how angry she is. 

“It’s a guy at a bar, being stupid. It freaked me out, okay, but he didn’t do anything bad, he’s just an idiot.”

Lyme just looks at her. “He paid Snow for… the privilege of your company?” She spits the words like they’re filthy, instead of calligraphy, written on white card that smelled of roses, and Rokia feels dirty in a way that has nothing to do with the shop grease under her nails. She nods, watches the fury spark and then fade as Lyme pulls herself together, shoving down the anger and blowing out a long breath.

“Rokia, he’s scum and he’s never touching you again.” 

Rokia’s already huddled in on herself as much as she can, but the tension is too much. She turns and walks out the door, Lyme calls after her but she just shakes her head and speeds up into a run, snow crunching underfoot as she heads up into the mountains.

He’s scum and he’s never touching you again. It won’t get out of her head, settling next to the image of the guy’s face, shifting from something like hunger to shock as Selene shoved him back, next to all the images she keeps pushing back into the dark corners of her mind. Lyme was furious, angrier than Rokia’s ever seen her, and Selene was incandescent, she recognized it even through the panic. Angry enough to be worried about doing something stupid, worried enough to call Claudius to talk her down—and Selene and Claudius have a good thing going but it’s not like she calls him every time something shitty happens. So why is this such a big deal, running into someone from a past life? Yeah, she doesn’t like remembering it, but it’s just how it is. It sucked, it’s over, nothing to see here, move along. 

She doesn’t run far, in work boots and a sweatshirt and exhausted and probably hungry, slows down, turns around partway up the mountain behind the village and looks at the houses down below, lights coming on in the windows. It’s too cold to stand still so she starts walking down, shunting her thoughts into the details of the new designs for cargo hovercraft they’ll start making if they can ever get the assembly plants up and running, probably a couple years out till they can do anything new but it keeps her mind busy, thinking about how to keep the fuel consumption manageable, wondering about maximum thrust and minimum drag.

Lyme meets her halfway down the trail, looking worried, carrying a heavier coat. Rokia’s glad for it, less certain she’s glad to see Lyme. But Lyme doesn’t say anything, just takes her home and feeds her soup. After they’ve eaten Lyme hands her a sleeping pill. She grumbles but takes it, too tired to argue.

When she jolts awake late that night Lyme is there, standing in the doorway and watching her. Rokia’s face is wet with tears and Lyme doesn’t look like she just rushed in, so Rokia must’ve been making noise in her sleep. She’s sitting up, half off the bed by the time she’s aware enough to stop herself. 

Lyme doesn’t touch her, just says “Rokia, you’re safe, you’re in Two, you’re safe, it’s okay,” soft and repetitive and she must’ve been talking for a while but Rokia has just now noticed. She shivers. It’s still dark out, and it’s cold. She looks up at Lyme, still dazed from sleep and whatever drugs Lyme gave her to put her out, and Lyme gives her a soft smile. “Can I come sit with you?” she asks.

Rokia nods. “Yeah,” she adds, voice hoarse, and moves over to make room. When Lyme climbs onto the bed Rokia puts her head in Lyme’s lap and Lyme’s fingers comb through her hair, dig into the taut muscles in her neck and shoulders, soothing Rokia’s ragged breathing until Rokia slides back into sleep.

He’s scum. It slips into her head at breakfast, in the shop, Selene’s face as she pushed the guy away, barely contained rage, when Claudius stops by to say hi. He’ll never touch you again, when she’s trying to fit together the pieces of another fuel pump, parts she brought back from the Capitol to assemble here. She can’t concentrate. She can always concentrate; through war and hunger games and her mom’s idiot boyfriends and her granddad’s anger and whatever else she can always, always do this. But after the third time her hands slip and the screw drops to the floor and rolls under the workbench she’s ready to scream. She finds the screw, sets it next to her tools, and walks out into the living room where Lyme’s sitting, looking through a pile of paperwork and scowling.

“What did you mean he’s scum?” Shit. That was so not how she was going to start this conversation. 

Lyme looks up, startled for a second before she covers it up. “I meant he’s a shitty human being and if there was any justice in the world he’d be in prison.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“I know.”

“The jails aren’t big enough for all the people who...” Rokia isn’t sure what to call it. 

Lyme’s face is blank but her voice is strained. “I know that, too.”

“It was normal. Plenty of people did it.”

“I don’t care if every fucking person in the Capitol did it, Rokia, it was wrong.”

“It’s not like it was just me. I didn’t even have it that bad.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Eibhlin’s the one you should be worrying about, not me.” 

“I worry about both of you, but that’s not the point.”

“What is the point?” 

Lyme looks at her. “The point is that you shouldn’t have to talk yourself down from this anymore. The point is that you are well within your rights to punch anyone who so much as touches you without your express permission. The point is that anyone who paid money to fuck you should have the basic human decency to stay the hell out of your way.”

“Oh.”

Lyme sighs, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah, look, I don’t want to send you running off into the mountains again, we can drop it if you want, but that’s what I think.”

Rokia nods. “I don’t want to talk about it. But I can’t seem to quit thinking about it.” 

“Do you want to spar?” Lyme sounds hesitant, maybe because the last few times she’s asked Rokia shot down the question without a second thought. She still flinches automatically, thinking of blood and violence and hands holding her down, but maybe if none of it was real? 

“With training staffs? Like we used to? I know it’s kid stuff but I…I don’t want it to feel real.”

Lyme smiles. “Wait here. I’ll go dig some up from the gym.”


	2. Chapter 2

Rokia gives herself a week. A week of letting Lyme feed her and take care of her and pull her in from the shop and put her to bed. A week of easy work in Lyme's garage and phone calls to the techs at the shop in the Capitol and sending part files back and forth to Matt in Six and feeling lazy because the overworked, depleted hovercraft fleet needs all hands on deck and she's watching the snow out Lyme's window, brain fogged from the drugs she let Lyme give her.

It's nice, really, but a week is all the time she can give herself and there's another cargo craft grounded after a near-miss crash landing in the mountains between here and the Capitol and they need her to replace a bunch of the wing plating and everyone else who could do that job is in Six.

So when Lyme comes down for breakfast, Rokia downs her food and her coffee and says "I gotta get back to the shop," and sits back to wait for the argument. Lyme always tells her she should stay, rest, give herself a break, and it's funny because what does Lyme think she's doing here if not giving herself a break?

But this time Lyme just leans back, crosses her arms, and says "No, Rokia, you don't," as though saying it makes it so.

"There's a crashed cargo craft that needs an overhaul, and it won't make it back to Six. I can't fix itwith hand tools in your garage, and it has to get fixed. The rail grid's still a fucking mess, we don't have spare capacity."

Lyme looks at her, long and hard and if she's uncertain about anything Rokia can't see it. "You can't keep going back there," she says, "You're going to burn yourself out."

"I'm fine." Honestly, she has a job she likes that keeps her mind off things, she has a safe place to sleep, she even has a friend in Selene--or, well, she did, who knows whether she's scared her off. Everybody's being run ragged right now, Lyme spends her days wrangling logistics and half the nights worrying about it, Rokia even called in a favor with Sara's cargo crew to get people to stop mysteriously losing D2-bound shipments. So now Rokia's supposed to drink cocoa and get babied like a fresh-out Two Victor because--she's honestly not even sure why. Because Lyme feels bad for her.

"Stay till tomorrow at least," Lyme says, after a pause. "I have another conference call this afternoon, I might need your help wrangling Sixes."

Rokia gives her a flat, unimpressed glare. Lyme is perfectly capable of wrangling any number of people all on her own, but if she's resorting to make-work tricks she must think it's important. "Fine," Rokia says finally, "First thing tomorrow, though."

Lyme leaves after breakfast and Rokia pulls out her datapad to start digging through the schematics for the crashed cargo craft. It's an older model so Rokia's hoping they don't have to make too many custom parts. The factories in Six are just barely starting to turn out spare parts for current models, there's no way to get spares for something this old short of machining them one at a time. She'll have to wait till she can get her hands on it to see, the crew just said their steering and guidance glitched out and they had to land quick. And honestly, it probably doesn't matter if she's not in the Capitol till tomorrow, it'll take that long to get the damn thing down and loaded onto a train.

She looks up when the door opens, surprised when Beetee walks in first. They come over to the table and Rokia groans. It's going to be a repeat of the Victor Relocation argument, and her answer's still the same: she doesn't need a babysitter, she's not following her mentor out to the ass-end of Panem to build houses or whatever, and she has important work to do in the Capitol.

"You really want to have this fight again?" she says, "You know I'm right, I know I'm right, can we just move on to the part where keeping critical infrastructure up and running is more important than you worrying about me being, what, sad?"

Lyme and Beetee trade glances, and Lyme heads into the kitchen while Beetee sits. "You're not wrong," Beetee says, looking at her. "We need the work you do."

Rokia scowls. "So stop trying to make me quit doing it."

Beetee smiles. "You're not being sufficiently innovative," he says. "There are more than two alternatives here."

Rokia raises an eyebrow. "I can't fix hovercraft in Lyme's garage."

"No," Beetee says, "But there's an old Peacekeeper hangar near the train station. We should be able to procure the necessary equipment for you."

Lyme comes back with hot tea, and Rokia gratefully wraps her icy fingers around the mug. "You can get a couple of the techs you were working with to come down, or you can hire people to help out," she says. "I'll make the calls just as soon as you say yes."

They're both smiling a little now, and Rokia looks from Beetee to Lyme in frank disbelief. “This is far from the most efficient solution,” she says, looking at Beetee, "You're seriously bringing all this stuff here just to keep me from going to the Capitol?"

Beetee's eyes narrow. "You're an excellent mechanic, Rokia, but you lack a certain basic understanding of human psychology and, well, physiology I suppose as well."

Rokia takes a minute to parse that. "You think I'm nuts?" Beetee's face shutters for a second before he responds.

"No, I think you are neglecting components of basic human maintenance procedures and as such I am concerned as to your ability to continue functioning at your current level."

Lyme's quiet, sitting next to Beetee, but the corners of her mouth twitch up at that. Rokia just glares at both of them until Lyme cracks and actually smiles. "Face it, kid," she says, "you're not going to get past both of us, and I don't think you really want to."

Rokia does her the courtesy of thinking about it, and what the hell, if they're going to drag equipment and people and who-knows-what down here so she doesn't have to go back to deal with Capitolite nonsense, she really would be crazy to actually refuse. She takes a deep breath. "Fine," she says, "let me make an equipment list."

“Start with this,” Beetee says, handing her a thin sheaf of papers.

Rokia looks down. It’s an equipment list, all right. It’s everything she’d have asked for, and then some. “Who told you what to get?” Rokia asks.

“Wiress did,” Beetee says, quietly. “And your friends from Six added a few things.”

Rokia swallows around the tightness in her throat. She’s not going to fucking cry, she’s really not. “Wow,” she says, setting the papers down carefully and avoiding eye contact in the hope that she’ll be able to keep her composure this way.

“Much of it is already set up,” Beetee says, “But there are a few things to finalize still. We will need to bring the CNC you were using from the Capitol.”

Rokia nods. That makes sense, those machines are hard to come by.

And she’s going to have one. In her shop.

Her. Shop.

Beetee glances at Rokia, looks over at Lyme. “I’ll just make some of these final arrangements,” he says, getting up.

“Thanks, Beetee,” Lyme says.

Rokia glances up. “Thanks,” she grits out, because she has to.

The door closes. “C’mere, kiddo,” Lyme says, pulling her up and over to the couch.

And now Rokia can’t not cry, quiet at first and then gasping sobs, curling up tight against Lyme until she pulls Rokia up onto her lap.

It takes a long time for Rokia to stop crying. It’s ridiculous, she’s happy, she’s going to have her own shop, it’s going to be amazing, she’s excited and thrilled but— she’s crying.

She winds down eventually, but Lyme keeps her arms wrapped loosely around Rokia’s back, and Rokia can hear Lyme’s steady heartbeat, her head against Lyme’s chest. She’s gross and stuffy and holy _shit_ she’s tired and her head aches, but… she feels better. Lyme pulls one hand away to grab a box of tissues and hands Rokia one. Rokia blows her nose, slumps back against Lyme. It’s early, she should get to work, she should go help Beetee organize… _her shop_ …she should…

 

She wakes up in bed, the afternoon sun streaming in the window.

 

* * *

 

Rokia can’t stay out of the Capitol forever. Despite Lyme and Beetee’s best efforts to pin her down here in District Two, there’s work that has to be done there, meetings that only make sense to have where most people can get to. But Rokia’s phone doesn’t ring for a good few weeks after they get the shop set up down by the station. She’s pretty sure Lyme made some really inappropriate threats to make that happen, but she can’t bring herself to mind too much.

But finally Lyme herself brings it up, when they’ve finished eating and are washing up dinner dishes.

“Paylor’s people are asking you to come in for some meetings,” Lyme says, putting a plate away and glancing over at Rokia, who’s got her hands in the soapy water washing because she can’t reach half the cabinets. “Next week.”

Rokia shrugs. “I figured something like that’d come up,” she says. “It’s fine, I probably still technically have a place in the Capitol.

Lyme scowls. “You’re not staying there.” Flat, not like a question at all. “We’re coming back on the night train.”

Rokia doesn’t miss the pronoun. “We?” she asks, one eyebrow arching up.

“Damn right, ‘we,’” Lyme says, straightening. With her shoulders squared and her back straight she towers over Rokia, a solid presence over her shoulder.

Rokia drops the last plate in the strainer and steps back so she doesn’t have to look up so far to meet Lyme’s eyes. “I don’t need a babysitter,” she says, irritated.

“I know,” Lyme says, unperturbed.

“I don’t want you looking over my shoulder in meetings, fuck’s sake. They already don’t take me seriously.”

Lyme at least looks like she’s considering that, and Rokia tries not to fidget. Finally she nods. “Meeting’s at the old Games Complex,” she says. “I’ll wait in the lobby.”

Rokia rolls her eyes, sighs. But she doesn’t really complain any more, because if she’s completely honest, it’s a relief to know Lyme will be there. Just in case.

 

Rokia doesn’t need the pressure of Lyme’s hand on her shoulder to make her realize how tense she is, but the weight helps her try to take a deep breath and relax. The train’s pulling into the station, and it’s one of the few things that haven’t changed much. There’s bullet holes, mostly patched over, but it still halfway feels like there should be people standing on the platform trying to snap pictures of her before she’s prepped.

But no, just a few passengers waiting for trains out, and it’s still easy to tell who’s Capitol and who’s from the Districts, but nobody’s paying much attention to Rokia and Lyme except to glance in their direction and move out of the way. Rokia glances up and Lyme’s face is one she’d stay away from, too, if she didn’t know better. They walk the couple of blocks to the Games Complex and head in. There’s offices here now, and people in drab work clothes walking around chattering, rather than the costumes and the glitter and everything else.

Lyme, as promised, finds an empty seat in what’s now just a lobby. “Sorry they took the bar out,” Rokia says, aiming for joking.

From Lyme’s look she doesn’t really get there. “I’ll be here when you’re done,” she says, and here in this building it carries an odd echo from the past, but Rokia shakes it off and heads for the elevator.

The meetings are pretty standard stuff, progress updates and who needs what and assigning priorities, which new design modifications are worth the retooling (most of them, since they’re retooling everything anyway given the amount of destruction in Six). They work through lunch, someone brings in sandwiches and Rokia picks at one because Lyme will ask.

When they finish, Rokia shares an elevator down with a couple factory managers from Six, and they know Matt, and she tells them to say hi before breaking off to find Lyme.

“Hey there, kid,” Lyme says, getting up and resting a hand on Rokia’s shoulder, which reminds her _again_ to get her shoulders away from her ears. “Did you eat lunch?”

Of course. “Yes,” Rokia says, rolling her eyes. “Did _you?_ ”

One corner of Lyme’s mouth quirks up. “Yep, got takeout. So, we done here?”

Rokia nods. “Yeah, I think so.”

 

They’re halfway to the train station when Lyme spins around and grabs someone by the arm. Rokia hadn’t been paying attention, doesn’t when she’s with Lyme because she doesn’t need to, and by the time she’s turned around Lyme has the guy pressed against the wall of the building with her hands on his upper arms.

“What the hell?!” The man shrieks.

“Who the fuck are you and why are you following us?” Lyme growls.

“This is ridiculous! Rokia, you remember me, don’t you?” the man’s whine jogs old memories buried deep and Rokia sucks in a breath.

Names, names, she blinks quick, trying to remember his name, and it’s like pulling out a drawer too hard so it falls on your foot, spilling shit everywhere. It’s hands on her wrists and fingers in her hair and bodies pressed against hers and she looks at him again and— “Julius?” she says, hesitant, and Lyme’s head whips around to look at her and Rokia flinches before Lyme hides the anger.

“Hey, Rokia, kiddo, stay with me,” Lyme says, shifting so she can keep one hand on the guy’s chest while she reaches the other out toward Rokia.

Rokia reaches out, takes Lyme’s hand, and Lyme squeezes once, hard.

Rokia takes a deep, shaky breath, clenches her free hand till her short nails dig into the skin.

“Fuck, Rokia,” Julius says, and now he sounds scared and confused. “You gotta tell her, I didn’t do anything, I never hurt anybody—“

“Shut. Up.” Lyme’s voice is steel, is the firm rhythm of gears engaging, and she squeezes Rokia’s hand once more before letting go. “You paid for her like she was a fucking new pair of shoes and you’re going to stand here and tell me you didn’t hurt anybody?”

Rokia’s eyes widen, and she’s breathing fast and this can’t possibly be happening, can’t possibly be real. Can’t be Lyme pinning a guy against the wall just for—for her. And yet, here it is in front of her.

“It wasn’t like that,” he tries, and Lyme actually snarls.

“Tell me, then,” she says, through gritted teeth.

“It was just for fun!” He tries squirming, but Lyme’s hands don’t even move.

“Rokia,” Lyme says, “Is that true?”

Rokia freezes. He wasn’t the worst, by any means, and it usually wasn’t awful, but—she shakes her head. “No,” she whispers, and somehow Julius hears, turns wide eyes on her.

He goes to open his mouth, but Lyme looks at him and he closes it.

“You’ve got some nerve,” Lyme says, “getting anywhere near her.”

He looks down, finally, head hanging. Opens his mouth again.

“Ah—“ Lyme interrupts him. “Only one thing I want coming out of your mouth, and it’s ‘I’m sorry, I won’t bother you again.’ Got it?”

Julius looks up at Lyme, indignant for a second, but he caves pretty quick. Bites his lip, glances at Rokia, then looks at the ground. “I’m sorry, I won’t bother you again,” he mutters, in one quick breath.

Lyme smiles, but it’s a smile Rokia doesn’t ever want aimed at her. Lyme backs away, and Julius stumbles without the pressure holding him up. He looks between them, shakes his head, and hurries away.

Rokia’s chest feels tight, and Lyme actually crouches, so Rokia has to look down at her. “Hey, girl,” Lyme says, taking Rokia’s hands in hers. “You with me?”

Rokia nods, not sure she can speak.

Lyme runs a hand through Rokia’s hair, a thumb across her cheekbone. “You’re my girl, yeah?”

Rokia nods.

“And I’m not letting anyone hurt you, not ever again.”

The world is strange and mixed up and confusing as hell, but this, somehow, Rokia believes.

Lyme stands up, still holding one of Rokia’s hands. “Come on,” she says, “Let’s see if we can get some snacks for the train.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

It’s the first day Rokia doesn’t curse at the cold when she walks out of Lyme’s house to head for the shop. Spring comes slower in the mountains than in the grey damp of Six, and Rokia’s more than ready to be able to go outside without putting on six layers just so she doesn’t freeze solid.

The walk down towards the hangar is actually pleasant without the icy wind, the whole world turning green and bright and new. She walks in, flips on the lights, and looks around, grinning. Rokia’s worked in one shop or another since she was a kid, but this one is hers. Not borrowed space in the Capitol or off-hours at Sal’s or the makeshift setup from her basement in the Six Village, but hers, set up just how she wants it. She’s supposed to be hiring some people, one of these days, but she hasn’t gotten around to it yet so for right now it’s just her, a grounded hovercraft to fix, and all the tools she needs. Turns out when Lyme and Beetee both call in favors, there’s a lot of underutilized machinery that can shake loose from non-essential manufacturing. 

She’s been there a couple of hours, settling into the job, when the door slams and she jumps. 

“Shit!” someone calls, and Rokia laughs as her heart slows back to normal. “Sorry, didn’t realize it would make that much noise.”

Rokia walks around towards the door to find Selene standing there with a bag slung over her shoulder. 

“I brought something for you,” Selene says, “Catch!”

Rokia gets her hands up in time to field—keys? She looks closer. Motorcycle keys. When she looks up, Selene’s grinning.

“I brought both bikes down, now that the snow’s melted I thought you might be getting a little stir-crazy.” Selene looks around the shop, trying not to be obvious about not meeting Rokia’s eyes. Which is fine, given that Rokia is still embarrassed about the last time they saw each other, an epic shitshow that might almost have been worth it since it ended up with setting up this shop. 

It’s a little suspicious, Selene showing up now. Rokia’s never quite sure how much information gets passed along the Two mentor espionage network, whether this was Lyme hinting to Claudius hinting to Selene or whether Selene got the idea on her own. Either way, Selene’s good at acting but she’s actually excited about the idea of getting out. Rokia is too, once she thinks about it for a minute, cool spring air in her face and a growling engine underneath her—yeah, that sounds pretty good. She hasn’t seen much of Two, nothing past the station and the Village and once or twice shopping in town. Well. Since the war. Eagle Pass and the Air Defense headquarters no longer exist, so they don’t exactly count.

“So, where are we going?” She asks, in lieu of answering any of the questions Selene isn’t exactly asking. 

Selene stops looking not-quite-skittish in the way she does when she’s not sure of something, and answers. “There’s an old abandoned quarry town a few miles out. I figured there might be some antique equipment or something you could disassemble.”   
Rokia rolls her eyes. “Am I really that predictable?” 

Selene smirks back at her. “Yup. Plus I’ve done my research.” She almost flinches, waiting to see if Rokia’s offended, but honestly, Rokia’s not made of glass. Today, anyway.

“Well, lucky me,” Rokia says, and Selene relaxes again, and could they please skip the part where it’s awkward and move on to the part where they’re just friends again? That part was good. This part is just annoying.

So Rokia sticks the keys in her pocket and starts shutting things down, until she flips off the lights and they walk out the door. The bikes are at the station and Rokia shoves down the urge to run over to them, but not the urge to get her hands all over hers, checking clutch and brake cables, looking for signs of fuel leaks, scratches, anything at all before she swings a leg over and kicks the starter. The bike grumbles to life after a few tries, rough-sounding from disuse, but Rokia twists the throttle and it roars, settling back down to a smooth idle. She grins up at Selene, who’s watching with her arms crossed and a smile pulling up the corners of her mouth. Okay, so Rokia is predictable. Whatever. 

“Come on,” Rokia calls, “I want to get a jacket from Lyme’s before we head out.”

Selene climbs onto her own bike and they ride up the road to the Village. Selene pulls ahead, revving the engine like she wants to race, but the bikes have been cold for a while and Rokia takes care of her stuff so she just glares up at Selene and doesn’t take the bait. 

Selene still hesitates half a second before walking into Lyme’s house, and Rokia grins at her to let Selene know she’s been caught. Selene glares back and settles into her “I’m-so-relaxed” Career stance when Lyme walks out of the kitchen. 

“Hi kids,” she says, “What’s up?” Rokia looks over at her, one eyebrow up. She may not be Two but she’s not dumb and even if it wasn’t Lyme’s idea in the first place, Selene would have told Lyme what she’s planning. Rokia has heard enough whispers about “Lyme’s stray baby Victor” to get what’s up. Everyone knows Two Victors can’t go to the bathroom without mentor supervision after they win, and Lyme might not say it but she’s got Rokia on something like lockdown ever since her last trip to the Capitol.

And Lyme isn’t saying anything now, either, so Rokia plays along. “We’re taking the bikes out. Selene says she knows a spot.” 

“Sounds like fun.” Lyme’s not giving up the game, so Rokia just shrugs and heads up the stairs. Let Selene deal with it.

When she comes back down, bundled up against the wind that’s sure to still be freezing, Selene’s perched on the arm of the couch, ready to go. She hands Rokia a helmet, and Rokia glares. “Oh, come on,” she says, “really?”

Lyme’s voice from the kitchen says “Yes really,” and Rokia glares and flips a rude gesture Lyme won’t see anyway. Selene laughs. 

“Let’s go,” Selene says, and they head out.

Selene’s leading the way, down into town and then back up into the mountains on the other side. Once they get away from traffic they speed up, until keeping the bike steady on the winding switchbacks takes all of Rokia’s concentration, her body tensed on the footpegs, and okay, fine, she’s glad for the helmet if only for the visor to keep the wind out of her eyes because up here in the mountains it’s still cold enough to sting. Finally they round a final switchback and come into an open clearing, a few rickety wooden buildings lining wide, smooth, gravel streets. They pull up next to each other and ride side by side to the end, where the road pitches up to the lip of the old quarry. When they get to the edge they climb off the bikes to look around. Selene groans and Rokia laughs. There’s nothing there anymore, the old pit filled up with slag and all the machinery carted away. Selene looks genuinely disappointed, so Rokia leans over to punch her in the arm.

“You jerk, you promised me ancient machinery to dismantle,” she says, but she’s laughing, which takes all the sting out of it. Selene looks over, aggrieved. 

“I try to do something nice for you,” she says, sarcastic but not really, and Rokia’s actually kind of touched. It’s a nice gesture.

“You did do something nice for me,” she says, “You brought my bike.” 

“Yeah, okay okay,” Selene says. She reaches into her saddlebag and pulls something out. “I brought lunch,” she says. 

“You made us a picnic?” Rokia laughs. “That’s adorable. I don’t think I’ve ever had a picnic in the wilderness before.”

Selene looks around. “It’s hardly wilderness,” she says. “It’s a town.”

“It was a town. Let’s see if we can find the saloon.”

“The what?” Selene looks genuinely confused.  
“Don’t you watch movies? There’s always a saloon on Main Street in ghost towns.”“That’s cowboy movies. From Ten.”

“Right, because only cowboys drink beer.”

“Shut up.” 

They’ve made their way back into town now and Rokia’s peering in windows, half of them broken, everything coated in a layer of dust. It’s bare for the most part, furniture here and there, a table, a chair with three legs leaning against the wall. Rokia wonders what happened to the people who lived here, where they ended up, what they’re doing now. Thinks for a minute about her grandpa, whether the iron mines in Upper Six are online yet, if he’s still there, and then shakes her head. Today is a good day, no point ruining it.

“Oh, shit, I found it,” Selene calls. “There’s totally a bar.” She’s shoving against the locked door, which comes free with a crack of old, splintery wood and she stumbles inside. 

Rokia walks over and laughs. It’s nothing like the saloons in old cowboy movies, fine, but yep, there’s a counter, a couple broken stools that got left behind. Nothing more to make it any different from the other buildings, but there it is. 

Rokia’d thought they might eat in here but it’s way too dusty so they go back out. Eventually they sit on the steps of what might have been a school or an office building and unwrap their sandwiches. The sun is shining and the mountains block the worst of the wind and it’s warm, making Rokia drowsy. She leans back on her elbows and watches Selene. 

Selene notices, eventually, turns to look at Rokia. “You look sleepy,” she says, “you could take a nap if you want.”

It’s tempting, but the last thing Rokia wants is to scare Selene off again by yelling in her sleep or something. She probably wouldn’t actually fall asleep anyway. “Nah,” she says, brushing crumbs off her lap and sitting up, judging the length and width of the streets and coming up with a much, much better idea. “You think this street runs a quarter mile?” 

Selene looks at her, blankly, then back at the wide, clear street. “Just about,” she says. “Why?”

Rokia grins, broad. “Wanna race?”

Selene looks at her. “Straight line, quarter mile? That’s boring.”

“Like hell!” Rokia crosses her arms. “You ever watched top fuel dragsters come off the line?” Okay, fine, it’s the kind of sport for Capitolites with money to, literally, burn, but the sound, the acceleration coming off the line, everyone in Six used to lay bets and watch on TV, and when the races actually came out on tour Rokia snuck in with Sara and watched from under the stands with their hands over their ears and they still left with their ears ringing. 

Selene’s looking at her like she’s speaking a foreign language. “Okay,” Rokia says, “I don’t expect you to get it and it’s not like anyone’s racing anymore, but it’s the purest kind of racing there is, all power and acceleration and—look, just try it once and you’ll see.”

Selene still looks skeptical, but she agrees, and they go get the bikes. Rokia checks the street for rocks and potholes, but there’s nothing to catch a wheel and send them flying. These bikes are not designed for this, but whatever, it’ll be fun. They line up even with the first building and Rokia calls it out. “3, 2, 1, GO!”

She’s done this, in the Capitol for a promotional thing, and it was the most fun she ever had in the Capitol bar none. So Rokia opens the throttle, lets the bike scream as it accelerates until she pulls in the clutch and shifts, rough, flying past Selene and laughing out loud as the dust flies up. She wins easily, flying past the last building and using the next half mile to slow down before looping back. Selene’s watching her.

“Show me,” she says, eyes sparking and a huge grin on her face. Rokia grins back. 

“You’re shifting too soon,” Rokia says, because it’s what she did the first time, not wanting to damage the engine. “You gotta wait until it’s almost painful.”

They go again, and again, and Selene gets closer but she never wins, and Rokia laughs when she pulls off her helmet and Selene scowls. “Come on,” Rokia says, “we should get back, or it’ll get dark and we’ll get yelled at for making people worry.”

Selene laughs at that, a short chuckle, and concedes. “OK,” she says, “but next time I’m going to beat you.”

“I know how we can make the bikes faster,” Rokia says, raising her eyebrows. “It’ll be awesome.”

Selene is hooked. Rokia recognizes it on her face, she’s captivated and she’s not going to give this up and it’s perfect. 

“And next time we’re bringing a witness,” Selene says, “So you can’t cheat.”

Rokia laughs, shoves down a spike of nervousness because it is still a good day, and says, “Sure, bring it on. I don’t need to cheat.”

“You just wait,” Selene says, and they climb back on the bikes and race all the way back to Lyme’s. Rokia wins, screeches to a halt in front of the door and has her helmet off to laugh at Selene as she coasts to a stop. 

Lyme’s standing in the doorway when Rokia turns to look, not trying particularly hard to hide a smile, and calls them in for dinner.


	4. Chapter 4

It's her shop. And it's quiet except for whatever noise she's making with whatever machine she's using today--and all the tools work, and work well, and none of them is held together with duct tape or beer-can shims. Not that there's anything wrong with either, but, well. It's a really nice shop, is the thing.

And usually she can move anything she needs to with the winch and maybe a crowbar if it's especially complicated, but she wasn't careful enough to tie up the underbelly section she was removing and now it's caught, a section of titanium longer than she is tall, dangling by a couple of rivets and it's too heavy to lift even if she manages to hook it and the winch in tracks on the ceiling can't reach under the belly of the craft to get it and FUCK.

She sits in the belly of the stupid craft and stares at the thing for a while in the vain hope that it will either magically have been attached better in the _first_ place, or that she'll come up with some brilliant solution to lifting twice her body weight in titanium by herself.

But no, unsurprisingly everything stays the same even after she glares at it, and she scrubs her hands over her face and climbs down.

On the bright side, at least it's not stupid-o'clock in the morning, so nobody can yell at her for that.

Still, it's a cold, annoying, and very grumpy ride up the hill to the Village and to Lyme's house, and Lyme raises an eyebrow at her when she walks in the door and that doesn't help _either_ because _dammit_.

"I need some extra hands at the shop."

"What for?" Lyme looks a little concerned

Rokia sighs. "I fucking dropped a section of titanium plating and it's hanging awkward and I can't lift it."

The corner of Lyme's mouth twists up, just slightly, before she nods and stands up. "OK," she says, "I'll get Brutus to come along."

Rokia sighs. "I'll meet you down there," she says, and rides back down.

She's glaring at the stupid plating again when they walk in, bickering about something. Brutus looks at Rokia, looks at the giant hanging piece of metal, looks at Lyme, and his mouth twists up in a smile he tries to hide by scratching his nose.

Lyme shakes her head and laughs. "Girl, what was your plan here exactly?"

"I thought I had it rigged so it'd stay in place until I could lower it."

Brutus' eyebrow twitches up and he crosses his arms but he doesn't say anything. Lyme gives her an exasperated look. "It's bigger than you are," she says, "how were you going to do that exactly?"

Rokia just scowls at her. "I had a plan."

"OK, kid," Lyme says, "What's the plan now?"

Rokia's been trying to come up with one other than "Please lift this giant piece of metal while I take off the last rivets and then put it on the ground." Because seriously, giant fucking piece of titanium.

But she _doesn't_ have another plan, and once it's on the ground she can maneuver it so she can get ropes around it to winch it _back_ into place but as it is right now it's too twisted up and stuck so well, shit.

"We might need more people," she says, hesitant. "You're going to have to take some pressure off it so I can get the last rivets out and then you gotta put it on the ground."

Lyme looks at Brutus, and they share a sharp grin. Brutus uncrosses his arms, walks over to stand under the metal, and lifts it up.

He lowers it and steps away, sweeps his arm in a wide gesture, inviting Lyme to step up. Which she does, slapping his arm out of the way, and lifts the thing herself.

Then she glances back at Brutus, looks at Rokia, and nods. "Shouldn't be a problem."

Rokia glares at her. Fucking crazy fucking Twos.

"Fine," Rokia says, scrambling up the ladder into the belly of the machine where she left her tools.

She pulls off the first couple of rivets and the thing groans until Brutus and Lyme take up the weight. She sighs. "OK, last one, it's gonna try and twist on you," she warns.

"We got it," Lyme calls back, and Rokia pulls the last rivet. The plate drops, but not far.

Lyme and Brutus trade grunts and curses that somehow manage to transmit information as they shift to get out from under the thing, and before Rokia really has a chance to get worried, it's sitting on the ground.

"Thanks, guys," she says, grabbing her toolbox and climbing down.

"Where d'you want it?" Brutus asks, gruff.

"Oh, I can get it with a crowbar and the winch from here," Rokia says, and Brutus gives Lyme a complicated look.

"We're down here already, kiddo, just tell us where you want it."

Rokia looks around. She'll need to cut it into pieces for scrap and patches, the gashes in the edge from the abrupt encounter with a mountain aren't repairable to Paylor's new safety standards, so instead of patching it up and sending it out to shift awkward lumber in Seven or something she's going to have to replace the whole panel and junk this one.

"Over there by the bandsaw, I guess," she says, it's where she'd have gotten it eventually, so if they insist on being helpful, might as well let them.

Lyme nods, jerks her chin, and she and Brutus pick up the plating and carry it over, dropping it next to the angle grinder and the bandsaw, just exactly where she'll be able to cut it into manageable pieces.

"Thanks," Rokia says, going to fetch her cutting torch and a mask. "I'm good now."

Brutus looks at her, looks at Lyme, and shrugs.

"Okay," Lyme says, giving her a long once-over. "Be careful."

Rokia watches them leave before she flips on the torch and starts cutting.

 

"You really shouldn't work down there alone," Lyme says, that night at dinner. "What happens if you hurt yourself?"

Rokia shrugs. "I'll be fine," she mumbles, pushing potatoes around her plate in hopes they'll magically disappear.

"Sure you are," Lyme says, flat. "But we're going to get you some help."

Rokia looks up to glare at Lyme (yeah, okay, she's sulking. Whatever.). "I don't need help," she says.

"You had guys working with you before," Lyme points out, and dammit, it sucks when Lyme is reasonable.

"They were from Six."

"Think they want to come here?" Lyme asks.

"Doubt it." Rokia looks up, trying to find a nice way to say it. "Two isn't really a place folks’re looking to move right now."

Lyme's mouth curls in a half smile. "Right," she says. "Well, there's guys who worked on hovercraft for the Peacekeepers," she says.

"Like they're gonna want to work with me," Rokia scoffs. "Peacekeeper mechanics aren't going to give me the time of day, I don't want them in my shop."

Lyme raises an eyebrow. "You really think that?"

Rokia flings up her hands. "I'm a 22-year-old rebel whore from Six, what do you think?"

Lyme almost flinches at that and Rokia is darkly pleased. "Rokia," she says, voice stern. "Don't say shit like that."

"Why not?" Rokia asks. "It's what they all think."

"Not everyone, and fuck the ones who do." Lyme's eyes are furious but she's keeping her voice level and as Rokia watches she forces herself to relax. "Girl, come on."

She gets up and Rokia follows, leaving the food on her plate she didn't really want anyway. Rokia picks up one of the training staffs leaning against the wall and Lyme takes the other, and they move through two choreographed sets before Lyme switches it up, striking left instead of right, and Rokia twists away and then they're fighting, and usually Rokia likes that it's play-fighting, it's not deadly serious like the Arena or the War or getting mugged in a back alley or like watching to see if Mom's latest boyfriend was going to be the hitting type.

Today though, it rankles. She's seen Lyme swing swords with Misha and Claudius and it's fast and brutal and incredible, years of training, hours every day, and Rokia will never, ever be that strong. And it's like the harder she tries the worse she is, she can't decide if she should go left or right, high or low and eventually she throws the fake weapon down in frustration.

Lyme just watches, like always, and Rokia clenches her fists and turns to look up at the hills behind the village because she doesn't want to look at all these houses full of people who are bigger and stronger and _better_ than she is, and of course they can't even let her have the shop to herself, she has to have Two Peacekeepers to look out for her even there in case she _hurts_ herself. And they'll pretend she's in charge and smile and ask her what to do like it's a concession because it fucking well is, and she _can't_ , she'll hop a train to Six before she lets that happen.

"Rokia?" Lyme's voice calls her back. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Rokia looks at her. And it's a stupid, petty, ridiculous thing to think, but Rokia can't help it: Lyme may be stronger and better and even probably better looking but if Rokia wanted to she could be prettier.

She doesn't want to be pretty, not ever again, but she _could_. If she needed to.

But that is a phenomenally stupid thing to say out loud so she says the other part.

"I don't want fucking Peacekeepers in my shop treating me like some dumb kid."

Lyme looks at her like she knows there's something else but she takes the line Rokia gave her. "They wouldn't do that," she says, "do Selene and Dash?"

"No, but that's different. No Peacekeeper is going to let me be in charge of him. Ain't never gonna happen." She says it in the meanest Six street accent she can pull up, and Lyme's eyes narrow.

"Okay," she says. "We'll figure something else out."

"Fine." Rokia says, still unsatisfied, not quite believing any of it. She turns toward the house, and Lyme calls after her.

"Hey, where are you going?"

Rokia shrugs, stops but doesn't turn around. "Inside I guess."

Lyme huffs a laugh. "Doesn't seem like you're really done here," she says, and Rokia isn't sure what that means, but she spins around.

"How's that?" she asks, and there's still a back alley crawling up her throat and curling her words the way Linsea spent years training her not to. "I got no fancy tricks to show you."

Lyme picks up Rokia's staff, drops both of them over by the tree in the yard, kicks off her shoes and comes back. "You sound like you want to hit someone," she says, and Rokia looks at her. "Take off your shoes and c'mere," she continues. "Only one way I know to get that out of your system. What'd they teach you about fighting in Six?"

Rokia's throat threatens to close on her because the "they" who taught her to fight are Sal, who's dead, and Matt, who's the only one from home she talks to, because he's keeping the shop turning out spare parts to keep the hovercraft in the air. She wants to scream. She wants to tell Lyme how fucking stupid it is to think she can fight a D2 Victor who's probably twice her weight.

What she does do is say "Fine," yank her shoes off, walk over and aim a punch at Lyme's throat.

Of course it doesn't land, and of course Lyme is also playing her because she'd be flat on her back in seconds if this were a real fight. But Lyme's arm catches hers and it hurts and she moves to drive her other hand into the space under Lyme's rib cage and that one connects and who cares if it's real or not. She's never fought for more than a couple minutes at a time so pretty soon she doesn't know what to do next and steps back, fingers the switchblade in her pocket to remind her that's not all she could do in a real fight. Lyme watches her, grinning.

"You done already?" Lyme asks, and Rokia's seen her fight with Claudius for ages and she's never really understood how.

Rokia shrugs. "I don't really know how to, what's it, spar." Just like she doesn't know how to do anything else. "I just know how to keep some junkie from stealing my paycheck." And how to catch a girl sneaking up on her and slice open her leg so the blood spurts in wide arcs, pulsing with her heartbeat, but that's not really the point.

Lyme grins. "Yeah, I'm sure you'd manage that just fine."

Rokia flips the switchblade out of her pocket and open, tucks it against her wrist. "This helps."

Lyme raises an eyebrow. "It would," she says, and that's it, and Rokia flips it closed and sticks it back in her pocket.

"If you want, I can teach you," Lyme says, and she says it almost offhand but her eyes don't leave Rokia's.

Rokia is sick of having to be taught things. But fine.

Lyme studies her, careful. "Come on, there's a punching bag downstairs."

 

An hour later Rokia is streaming sweat and her knuckles are sore and somehow all of that put together means she feels _better_. It's easier not to compare herself to the matches she's seen out on the yard when it's her punching a bag instead of trying to fight, easier to just copy what Lyme does without getting frustrated by how much smaller and weaker she is, easier to just focus on doing it right and the heavy thud when her fists connect. Finally, her arms start feeling like they’re made of lead, heavy and inert, and she steps back to catch her breath. Lyme notices, of course, because she's psychic or something, and she reaches up to drop her hands onto Rokia's shoulders, rubbing at muscles Rokia can already tell will be screaming at her in the morning.

It's better, anyway, at least for now, and she smiles a little, looking up at Lyme and finally meeting her eyes without wanting to look away. "That was fun," she says, letting Lyme turn her and pull her into her side. "We should do it some more."

And that's dumb and her only excuse is it's late and she's tired and it's been a long fucking day, but Lyme ruffles her hair and guides her up the stairs to where she collapses on her bed, too tired to even bother with a shower.

**Author's Note:**

> (Be nice, people, this shit's personal)


End file.
